


Paint it red

by calmena



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, How is this a christmas story, Kinda dark!Sherlock, also kinda violent, but not really, this is a little dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmena/pseuds/calmena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock paints London red. With Moriarty. Written for 221b-advent on lj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint it red

Oh, but this was fun, he thought, watching the figure hunt after his little pet. He'd known it would be like this, of course Sherlock would be so much more fun when that doctor of his wasn't near. And because it was Christmas and Sherlock was such a dear, he'd even made him the present of arranging a visit with that sister of his and not a more permanent one with, say, some of his former army mates.

Sherlock tended to get so dreadfully serious about the situation whenever the doctor was involved and really, today it was all about the fun.

About to reach the person he was chasing after, Sherlock reached out a hand, intend to stop the person who'd just almost killed the Italian chef his dear seemed to be quite fond of, only to watch the side of his targets head explode into fleshy bits and blood.

Moriarty giggled and clapped, mentally complimenting Moran on the perfect shot and watching as Sherlock frowned, then looked at the hand that clutched a piece of paper. It was quite pleasing to know that his little pet had kept to the rules and not let go of it during the chase.

Sherlock would love it, he knew. This was exactly what he needed. A nice, little puzzle to make Christmas so much more entertaining.

 

When Sherlock reached the next one (drug dealer, quite a big fish as well, Sherlock _better_ appreciate his generosity), the man's head didn't explode quite so beautifully. Moriarty pouted. This was supposed to be his present for himself as well, watching Sherlock enjoy himself and painting London red, because red was such a festive colour, and he was supposed to be in a festive mood for Christmas, wasn't he?

Moran's voice piped up, apologising and promising that the next one would be better.

 

Sherlock had obviously caught on at that point. Chasing the next person the clues led him to, he almost managed to get the woman out of the way by tripping her. Quite ungracefully as well, almost falling himself, which was _hilarious_ and oh, Sherlock was _so_ enjoying himself, he just knew.

 

It took two more people, Moriarty was just about to get ready for the _grande finale_ , before Sherlock vanished. From one moment to the next, he had just gone and oh, wasn't that _exciting_?

Moran was perplexed and why wouldn't he be, he wasn't them, he didn't _understand_. Moriarty was delighted. Sherlock was _playing_!

 

And then, only a few minutes later, a gun was cocked behind him and wasn't _that_ disappointing?

"Oh, honey, really?" he sighed, turning around to face the normally so delightful detective. "And I thought we were having so much fun. You're too soon, I'm not ready for the dinner I was going to have ready for you."

"You're welcome to wait," Sherlock said, but as much as he tried, Moriarty could hear the leftover excitement from the chase in his voice. "I'm sure the police would quite like to talk to you."

"Oh, love, have you learned nothing?", he purred, amused despite himself, looking directly at the gun. It wouldn't be shooting him, not today, at least. "I'll just walk out of here, you won't be doing anything with _that_ ," he nodded towards the gun, "to me. Wouldn't it be a pity? I am the reason this Christmas was quite enjoyable after all, am I not?"

Sherlock snorted, but there was something in his voice that said he was thinking about what Moriarty had said. He almost grinned, turning away once more.

"And that, my dear, is why you won't shoot me now. I painted London red for you. It would be a pity to have this end like this, wouldn't it?"

He was almost out of the door, and finally the smirk came out to play. Almost out of sight, he couldn't resist the allure of turning around and saying one last thing, provoking Sherlock just one more time before he was going to wait for the next big game between them.

"Oh, and do tell John a merry Christmas from me, won't you? And ask how his sister is."

The next thing he knew was that there was a deep pain in his shoulder, almost his neck and he was surprised that Sherlock had shot him, but yes. The dear doctor really was his beloved pet, wasn't he? How quaint.

Sherlock half-smirked, half-grimaced.

"How about you watch _me_ paint London red."

And he raised the gun.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a prompt, but I can't look up who prompted it at the moment, because lj is down. Boo.
> 
> Anyway, I am really sorry for this because this is... something. Not really anything. It's weird. I dunno. I changed it about 100 times and it's still bad, I think. Also, I forgot to get it beta-read, so if anyone finds mistakes, please tell me. :/
> 
> ...I'm so sorry. D:


End file.
